


Hook, Line and Sinker

by zeldamonkey



Category: One Direction (Band), Radio 1 RPF
Genre: First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-12
Updated: 2014-03-12
Packaged: 2018-01-15 11:41:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1303624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zeldamonkey/pseuds/zeldamonkey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nick really hadn’t come here tonight looking to pull. It's just that there’s only so much sitting around at his parents' house and watching Antiques Roadshow that he can take in one weekend.</p><p>Or: 18 year old pre-X-factor Louis meets 25 year old Nick Grimshaw in a club in Manchester.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hook, Line and Sinker

Nick spots him on the way back to the dance floor. He's short, which should make him disappear in the crowd, but somehow the sea of people between them parts at just the right moment and there he is: a pocket sized thing in red skinny jeans, tight white teeshirt and white sneakers. As Nick watches he does a sort of shimmy with his hips as he flicks his fringe out of his eyes, and yeah, okay.

Nick's hooked.

He's not sure if the boy's noticed him, but he turns a cheeky smile on Nick as Nick fights his way through the mass of people to him, so maybe he had. 

"Hey," Nick yells. 

"Hey yourself," the boy shouts back. "I'm Louis."

"Nick."

Louis gives him a nod of acknowledgement, and keeps dancing. He's not doing any special moves, just rolling his hips to the beat and sort of bobbing his head, but there's something about how compact he is, with his thick thighs and round bum tucked into his skinny jeans, that makes it look better than it should.

Nick can't help himself, the cliché's too tempting. "Come here often?" he yells, enunciating as clearly as he can so even if Louis doesn't hear, he should be able to lip-read.

The eye roll he gets in return looks well-practised, but at least Louis doesn't run away. Nick's counting it as a win.

They dance at each other for a couple of songs, Nick feeling particularly gangly and awkward in contrast to Louis. Louis doesn't seem put off by it; in fact he keeps looking up at Nick through his fringe, and every now and again he'll lick his lips. Nick hopes he’s doing it intentionally. Still, it seems improbable that someone who looks and moves like Louis would be interested in Nick, and Nick keeps waiting for him to get bored and move on. But he doesn't.

In fact, when the beat changes to something a bit slower, sexier, Louis shoots him a questioning glance, then turns around and dances back against Nick, arse brushing against the top of Nick's thighs. If Nick had thought it was a nice arse from a distance, it's even better up close - full and round and firm. Nick's hands go without his permission to Louis' hips, helping him roll with the beat. By the end of the song Nick's cock is more than a little interested, and he's glad Louis is shorter than him or he'd be finding out exactly how much.

Not that Nick'd be averse to a quickie in the toilets, if one were to be on offer - but. He really hadn’t come here tonight looking to pull. It's just that there’s only so much sitting around at his parents' house and watching Antiques Roadshow that he can take in one weekend.

As he's debating whether he wants to risk trying for a bit of a snog and seeing how it turns out, the next song starts and Louis wriggles out from under Nick's hands and turns around to face him, a funny expression on his face that Nick can't quite decode. _Here comes the brush-off_ , Nick thinks, but Louis doesn't fob him off and leave. No. He leans up to put his mouth next to Nick's ear - Christ, he's actually had to go on tiptoes to reach, which shouldn't be hot but somehow is - and brazenly cups Nick's cock through his jeans. 

"You any good with this?”

They're still in the middle of the bloody dance floor and this isn't actually Canal Street. Nick gently removes the hand and puts a bit of space between them, though he keeps his mouth close to Louis' ear. "Think it's my mouth or my hands you should be asking about, isn't it?"

Louis shakes his head and puts his hand right back, this time giving Nick's half-hard cock a gentle squeeze. "Not interested in anything else. I'm looking to get fucked. You up for it or not?"

Nick really should say no. A handjob or a quick blowie is one thing; actual fucking's a but more than he usually looks for in a club hookup. But Louis does have a fucking fantastic arse and there's something else about him as well, something that's telling Nick it'll be glorious to watch him come apart on Nick's cock.

Ah, fuck it. It's been ages since he's had a proper shag, anyway. "I'm up for it. But we'll have to go somewhere else."

They're still in the middle of the dance floor, practically shouting in each others' ears. Someone jostles Nick just as he finishes speaking so he stumbles backwards and catches a glimpse of Louis' reaction to his answer: excitement or terror, Nick can't tell. Possibly it's both. It's only there for a second, anyway, before Louis gets his expression back under control and leans in to say, "Your place?"

Nick shakes his head. "Just up from London for the weekend. Yours?"

Nick would bet fifty quid Louis still lives at home. Louis doesn't admit to it, though, just frowns for a moment before seeming to come to a decision. He pulls his phone out of his pocket. "I'm staying at a mate's," he tells Nick as he taps out a message. "If he's gonna be out for a while, maybe we can go there."

They move off the dance floor whilst Louis waits for his mate to reply, and find a slightly quieter spot along the corridor to the toilets. Louis props himself up with his back against the wall, and it's such a teenaged pose with his phone in his hand and floppy fringe hanging into his eyes that Nick suddenly realises he's forgotten to ask the most important question.

"Hey, Louis, how old are you?"

He pushes his fringe back from his eyes, and says, obviously unimpressed, "Eighteen."

“Really?” Nick looks at him consideringly. He's probably telling the truth: he's got the beginnings of a scraggly beard growing on his neck and his expression certainly isn't young, but his bright red trousers make him look like a Year 11 who’s snuck out of his parents house via an upstairs window. "Can you prove it?"

Louis glares at him. "Had to already to get in here, didn't I?"

Nick shrugs. "People've been fooled by fakes before, love, and whilst you've got a lovely bum, it's not worth going to jail for. Show me some ID or this doesn't go any further."

Louis still looks unimpressed, but he pulls his wallet out of his pocket and hands over a driver's licence. Louis Tomlinson, born 24th December 1991. He was telling the truth, then: eighteen, but not by much. It's only February. Nick hands the licence back without commenting.

"Happy now, Dad?" Louis asks, sneering.

"Watch it," Nick says, "I said I'd fuck you but I'm not up for roleplay."

"Ha, ha," Louis says sarcastically. Then his phone buzzes in his hand and he checks his messages. His eyes are bright when he looks back at Nick. "Stan says he's not gonna be back for a while," he says. "Shall we get out of here?"

 

The cold air is a shock when they step outside. Louis hesitates by the line of people waiting to get into the club.

"Come on," Nick says, indicating down the road with a nod of his head. "Taxis are this way."

"Yeah. I - er." Louis' still not moving. "Just remembered I got the bus in? Don't think I have enough on me for a taxi."

Of course he doesn't. Nick remembers being like that back at uni, weighing up whether to get another drink or save his money for the taxi home.

"My shout, then," he tells Louis, "unless your mate lives in blooming Leeds or something. Come on, I'm freezing."

Nick thinks for a moment that Louis is going to argue, but thankfully he just hunches further into his coat and follows Nick down the road.

It doesn't take them long to find a taxi. Louis gives the driver the address, and then Nick, being Nick and therefore unable to abide silence, tries to start up a conversation. It's largely one sided; Louis, when he deigns to contribute, does so in monosyllables. He's not even looking at Nick, instead staring fixedly out the window with fingers splayed out over his thighs, and every now and again one of his legs will start to jiggle before he seems to remember himself and clamp down on it. 

The sixth time he does it his knuckles have almost gone white with tension and Nick can't bear it anymore. He leans halfway across the back seat, and, pitching his tone low so the driver can't overhear - he probably already thinks Louis is a rent boy that Nick's picked up - and asks, "Listen, are you alright? I don't mind if you've changed your mind, we can drop you off at your mate's and I'll just head back into town."

The look Louis turns on him is poisonous. "I haven't changed my fucking mind," he snaps.

Nick leans back, hands raised defensively. "Okay! Christ, I was just asking."

"Yeah, well, stop it. You'll get your end in, don't worry."

"That's not - oh, never mind." 

He gives up. No skin off his nose if Louis doesn't want to admit he's nervous. Nick's got more than a sneaking suspicion that this'll be Louis' first time, which - well. Nick's own first time had been with the closest thing he'd had to a boyfriend at uni, and it'd been everything a first time was supposed to be: slow, and careful, and just - nice. He got that that wasn't for everyone, though. Louis had clearly gone out tonight intending to find a stranger to fuck him, and if that was how he wanted it to happen, who was Nick to tell him it was wrong?

They pass the rest of the drive in silence. When they arrive, Louis hops out of the taxi whilst Nick's still digging out his wallet, and by the time he's finally paid the smirking driver and got his change, Louis is standing in the open doorway of a bottom-floor flat, looking impatient.

"Come on, hurry up."

Louis doesn't give him much time to look around as they hurry through a tiny sitting room and down a dark hall way into a bedroom. He flicks the light on and walks towards the bed, toeing his sneakers off as he goes. 

The room smells like teenager: a potent mix of dirty laundry, bodyspray and old beer. Nick has an unexpected moment of sympathy for the way his mum'd used to open a window every time she came into his room at home, even if it was freezing outside. You could almost cut the air in here with a spoon. It's a pigsty, too, clothes all over the floor, crusted dishes on the desk in the corner, bed unmade with the covers pushed half onto the floor and some suspicious stains on the sheets. Very romantic.

By the time Nick's taken stock of his surroundings, Louis' already gotten his shirt and trousers off and is sitting right on the edge of the bed in just a pair of black Topman pants. He looks nervous, but when he catches Nick looking at him he raises his chin challengingly.

"Come on, are we doing this or not? Get your kit off."

Nick rolls his eyes and starts unbuttoning his shirt. "Hold your horses, it's not a race."

"Maybe not for you, but I'd rather my mate didn't come back and find me here with your dick in my arse, alright?"

"Okay, okay." Nick kicks his boots off and goes to work on his trousers. "What time's he due back?"

Louis shrugs. "He said not before two. If he pulls he might not be back at all."

Nick checks the time on his phone; just gone midnight. "I don't know what kind of stamina you think I have, but I think we'll be done in two hours, love." He pauses. He's got to ask, but he's pretty sure Louis won't appreciate it. "You've not done this before, have you?"

"Will you shut the fuck up and get on with it?" Louis snaps, which means no, he definitely has not.

"Will you trust me to know what the fuck I'm doing?" Nick counters. He's suddenly fed up. Here he is, trying to do the right thing, and Louis keeps behaving like a complete prat. "Look, I get that you don't want to talk about it, which - fine, whatever, but do you have any idea what kind of arsehole you could have picked up in that bar, prancing around in those trousers with your arse hanging out and asking to be fucked?"

"Yeah, well, I did end up with an arsehole, didn't I," Louis says, flopping back onto the bed, "one that won't stop fucking lecturing me about my fucking life choices instead of fucking me like I asked him to."

"Excuse me for not wanting a miserable fuck with a bloke who doesn't have a clue what he's doing and won't admit it," Nick shoots back.

There's silence for a moment, during which Nick realises he's standing about in a strop wearing nothing but his pants and socks, and must look completely ridiculous. The irritation drains out of him as rapidly as it'd come, and he sighs. "Louis. Listen. For some reason I find myself feeling a bit fond of you, which clearly means I've lost my marbles, but I'd really like this experience not to be utter rubbish for you, okay? So will you cut me a bit of slack and let me do things my way for a bit?"

Louis' been listening to him with his eyes fixed on the peeling plaster of the ceiling. "Sure," he says in a monotone. "If it means you'll get on with fucking me already, yes. Be my guest."

"Thank you," Nick says. "Now, if his majesty would be so kind as to remove his pants?"

Louis rolls his eyes but does as Nick's asked, sliding his pants down and off onto the floor. He's still perched with his bum right on the edge of the bed, which gives Nick an idea. He takes his socks off and lays them out next to the bed - they're are bound to be cleaner than this carpet and besides, they're extra cushioning and he's not eighteen anymore - and sinks to his knees, hands nudging Louis' thighs gently apart.

"What are you doing?" Louis says sharply, as soon as Nick touches him.

Nick looks at Louis up the length of his body - wide hips, mostly soft cock, hairless chest. "I'd hoped you'd at least had a blowjob before, Louis."

"I have, ta, but I didn't ask you for a blowjob, I asked you to fuck me."

"And I'd quite like you to enjoy the experience, so we're doing this my way. Which reminds me," Nick snaps his fingers. "Should have thought of this before, but have you got any slick?"

"Back pocket of my jeans," Louis says, dropping his head back and covering his eyes with one hand.

Nick pulls Louis' jeans over to him and finds a couple of sachets of lube - the kind they give out for free at student health clinics, if he's not mistaken - and a condom in the back pocket. He thinks of commenting that at least Louis wasn't going to be completely irresponsible about this, but he doesn't particularly want to be called Dad again so he keeps his mouth shut.

He tears open one of the lube packets and props it up, ready, against his knee. Best to be prepared; once he gets Louis going he won't want to have to stop and fiddle around.

"What's that noise?" Louis asks suspiciously at the sound of the packet tearing.

"I'm going to finger you whilst suck you off," Nick says. "That alright?"

Louis doesn't respond beyond a grunt. Nick takes it for a yes and gets to it.

Nick realises he’s probably a bit odd, the way he likes getting people hard just with his mouth, but he does. There's something about how it feels to have a cock firming up in his mouth, swelling until he has to open his jaw wide around it; and whilst Louis' cock was nothing remarkable when soft, he's definitely a grower and it's not long before Nick's got a proper mouthful and something to wrap his hand around, besides. 

Louis isn't making much noise, but Nick can hear little hitches in his breath that suggest he might be enjoying it despite himself. In the corners of Nick's vision he can see Louis' fingers curled into the bedsheets, twitching every time Nick takes him deep.

When Louis starts nudging his cock up into Nick's mouth, Nick reckons he's distracted enough to go in with a finger. He brings his free hand up and brushes one finger between Louis' cheeks. 

Louis nearly comes off the bed. Nick gets a kick to the ribs and Louis' cock unexpectedly down his throat. He backs off, coughing. "What the fuck, Louis?"

"You - touched me," Louis says, sounding chagrined rather than apologetic, which Nick feels would be far more appropriate. "I wasn't ready."

Nick resists the urge to roll his eyes. "I barely did. And you do realise if you want me to fuck you I'm going to have to do a lot more than that?"

Louis glares down at him. "I'm not an idiot. I said I wasn't ready. You just surprised me." But he's got tension in every line of his body, forearms corded, stomach muscles tensed. The way he's curled himself up to look at Nick has made his tummy pudge out a little bit, a roll of softness above his hips, oddly young and vulnerable.

Nick sighs. If Louis doesn't relax this _will_ take two hours and probably be crap for them both, besides. "Alright. Look," he says. "D'you think you can you go twice?

"What?"

"If you come now, will you be able to go again in a bit?"

"Yeah - yeah, I reckon."

"Alright, then, we'll do that. This can be just to take the edge off. Now relax, would you?" 

Nick leans forward again and takes Louis' cock back into his mouth, then curls his free hand around the plush curve of Louis' bum, tips of his fingers just resting at the top of Louis' crack, and keeps it there, unmoving. It takes Louis a good few seconds to relax. When he does, Nick starts sucking, pulling out all his best tricks, and at the same time gently strokes his dry fingers over Louis' hole. Louis' thighs tense up around Nick's ears but nobody gets kicked this time, so Nick's counting it as progress.

When he reckons Louis must be getting close, Nick takes his hand away from Louis' cock, lets Louis take control of how much of his cock Nick takes, bump-bumping along the roof of Nick's mouth as he thrusts up. A bit of fumbling around and Nick's got two fingers slicked up, and the next time Louis' hips come off the bed Nick pushes one into Louis' hole, sliding in easily to the second knuckle, and Louis - 

Louis comes with a grunt, flooding Nick's mouth.

Now, normally, Nick'd be seriously upset if someone came in his mouth without asking first, but he supposes this was sort of his fault. He swallows, then pulls off, but keeps his finger where it is in Louis' bum. It's a bit weird, but since it's taken Nick two attempts and a pretty spectacular blow job to get this far, he's not willing to concede any of his hard-won ground.

"Is that - " Louis says, sounding hoarse. He's propped himself up on his elbows to look down at Nick.

"My finger," Nick supplies, and gives it an illustrative little wriggle. Louis' leg twitches and Nick shies away, not wanting to get kicked again.

"Just one?" Louis asks.

"Yup. How's it feel?"

Louis pulls a face. "It - um. Fuck. Weird?"

"Well." Another wriggle. "I hadn't meant for you to come quite so quickly, was going to give you a chance to get used to it."

Louis' instantly on the defensive. "Well, excuse me if I enjoyed getting a fucking blow job, I thought that was the point."

"I wasn't - oh, fuck's sake." This is ridiculous. Nick pulls his finger out and after a moment's consideration wipes it on the sheets; he's sure they’ve had worse. "Of course you were meant to enjoy it. Now stop being such a prickly fucker and get up on the bed properly, would you?" 

Louis gives him the stink-eye but he does shuffle back until he's lying in the middle of the bed. Nick follows him up, tossing up the condoms and the rest of the lube, too, and settles next to Louis, who's watching him warily. Louis' cock's still half-hard, lying up against his tummy, but he's definitely going to be too sensitive for Nick to get his hands on it again just yet. He'll have to find some other method of distraction.

Nick considers for a moment, then asks, "Can I kiss you, or is that too much for your delicate sensibilities since I've just had my mouth on your cock?"

As Nick'd hoped, Louis takes it as a challenge, immediately surging up and pressing his mouth to Nick's. Their chins and noses bump together for a moment because Louis is a little fucker who won't give in and tilt his head the right way, but once Nick's got a hand on the back of his neck and fingers twisted in his hair to guide him they're sorted. 

It's more an argument than a kiss, at least to start with. Louis' teeth are pointy and he's not afraid to use them, scraping them against Nick's tongue and nipping at his bottom lip when he sucks it into his mouth. He stops short of drawing blood, at least, which Nick takes as a thank you for the excellent blowjob he's just received. He's pretty sure waiting for Louis to actually _say_ thank you is pretty pointless.

After a minute or so Louis seems to realise that Nick's not going to back down or be scared off by his teeth, and he stops fighting quite so much. He's actually quite good when he’s not trying to punish Nick, with a quick, clever tongue, tasting of syrupy sweet Red Bull. Nick licks into his mouth, chasing it, trying to get rid of the taste of Louis' come.

Louis seems to object to that, and he breaks the kiss, pulling a face. "You taste like come," he says.

"Can't imagine why that might be, princess," Nick says. He's still got one hand curled around Louis' neck, soft hair tickling his fingers. "If you don't like it, maybe you shouldn't have come in my mouth." He tugs on Louis' hair, pulling him back in.

This time, when Nick kisses him, Louis doesn't fight it at all.

Nick lets it go on until Louis starts to shift closer, pressing their bodies together, and then he runs a hand down Louis' side and uses it to hitch one of Louis' thighs up over his hip. It's intoxicating, how much shorter than him Louis is; he can keep kissing him like this and easily reach around to open him up.

Louis' whole body jolts at the first brush of Nick's fingers over his hole, and he makes a little, "Mph," noise into the kiss, but he doesn't pull away and he doesn't object when Nick pushes one finger back in. He's tight, but after a moment he seems to deliberately relax into it, and the slide gets easier. 

The second finger earns Nick a muffled curse and a sharp bite to his lower lip, so he takes his time with it, and by the third finger Louis' hardly kissing back at all, mouth slack and open for Nick's tongue. He's hard again, pressed against Nick's belly, and he's rocking his hips back into Nick's hand, trying to get more.

Nick reckons he could quite happily keep doing this all night, working Louis open on his fingers, maybe get him to come on them, but it's not what Louis had asked for. He gently slides his fingers out, ignoring the little noise of protest that Louis probably didn't mean to make, and pulls back from the kiss.

"That's enough of that, I think," he says. "Shall we move on to the main event?"

Louis presses his lips together, bitten-pink and wet, and nods.

Nick's still got his pants on, having not wanted to spook Louis, but it's going to be a bit difficult to fuck him through them. He lifts his hips and slides them off, cock springing free. Louis is watching, eyes fixed on Nick's groin, and Nick tries not to hold his breath too obviously whilst he waits for his reaction. Nick's had a few men freak out at this point, before he'd learned to spot the ones who were just experimenting and were fine until there was another bloke's hard cock waving around, and then suddenly they were all about the tits again.

Louis takes a big breath in, and then another. "That's - " he starts, but doesn't seem to know how to finish.

"A perfectly normal dick," Nick says. He's seen plenty in his life and he knows his is only average, size-wise, but he's nevertheless he's attached to it. Literally and figuratively.

"Right, yeah, obviously. Just - looks bigger when I know where it's going."

Nick's so hard now it's ridiculous, but he likes to consider himself to be a decent person, so he makes himself ask, "Still sure you want to do this?"

Of course, it's exactly the wrong thing to say. "Stop fucking asking me, I'll tell you if I'm not," Louis snaps. "Get the fuck on with it." He shifts onto his back and pulls his knees up, an obvious invitation.

Nick shrugs, and fishes about in the bed for the condom packet. "Okay. It's easiest if you're on your hands and knees, though, so. Turn over?"

It turns out that Louis on all fours is practically a work of art. When Nick's got the condom on he takes a moment to runs his hands down from Louis' shoulders, over the bumps of ribcage, past the soft dip of his waist and around the curve of his bum. Then, unable to help himself, he does it again. It's just - it's a pretty fucking spectacular view. 

When he uses his hands to part Louis' cheeks, exposing his hole to the air, Louis' thighs visibly tremble. "Hey, you're alright," Nick says, stroking over his hip, feeling like he's gentling a skittish horse. 

"I fucking know I am, will you get on with it?"

Right, okay, he gets it. If Louis really doesn't want to be looked after; Nick can oblige. He uses the last of the lube to slick up the condom and shuffles forward until the head of his cock is just bumping up against Louis' hole, then pauses, wanting to hear Louis ask for it again.

He's only waiting a handful of seconds. "What the fuck are you waiting for, an engraved invitation?"

Nick gives in. As he pushes forward, Louis opens for him beautifully, letting him sink balls-deep with one smooth roll of his hips. Louis has gone utterly still, not even breathing, and Nick makes himself wait, resists the urge to just pull out and slam back in until he's fucked the attitude right out of him. Eventually Louis lets out a long breath, hissing like he's breathing through his teeth, and says, "Okay, you can move."

Nick does, keeping it smooth and controlled whilst he still can. It's a struggle, though. He watches his cock disappearing between the round cheeks of Louis' arse and wishes for one wild moment that someone was filming this. It just seems criminal that this is the only time he'll get to do this; the only time he'll have Louis laid out under him, making little muffled noises like he's trying to hide how much he likes it. In fact, when Nick checks, Louis has got his head down on his folded arms and looks like he might be biting his wrist to keep quiet.

Nick's been angling his hips with every stroke, searching for Louis' prostate, and when Louis lets a particularly loud noise escape, he thinks he might have got it. He folds himself over Louis' back, puts his face down next to Louis'. "I don't speak grunt, love. Was that a more, please?"

Louis has got his eyes shut and his mouth pressed into his wrist. He lifts up just enough to say, quite clearly, "Fuck you."

Nick makes himself hold still, buried deep in Louis' arse, though it's just as torturous for him as it must be for Louis. "Sorry? I'm not following."

"Fuck you, Nick, fucking fuck me already." Louis shoves his hips back, trying to get Nick to move.

"Manners, love," Nick says reprovingly, but he punctuates it with a little roll of his hips, and - yep, definitely found it.

A few more thrusts like that and Louis' noises have turned into wordless gasps, pushed out of him every time Nick buries himself deep. He's arching his back and rocking into it, looking for more, and Nick gives it to him, relentless, fucking into him hard and fast, loving the wet sounds Louis' arse is making, and the way he looks when he's desperate for it, wanting, almost in spite of himself.

"I'm, fuck, I need - " Louis gasps out. He's got one hand down around his cock but he doesn't seem to know what to do with it.

"I've got you, love." Nick pushes Louis' hand away takes over. It's harder to keep his rhythm smooth if he's wanking Louis off as well, but this isn't Nick's first time at the rodeo. 

"Ohh, f- fuck." Louis has got his head down on his arms, turning his head restlessly like he doesn't know where to look. Every time Nick fucks into him he jolts forwards. His cock is hard and leaking, slick in Nick's hand. "Nick, I can't, I can't."

"You can. Come on, love."

Louis lets out a high pitched whine. His arse clenches around Nick's cock and he shoves himself forward into Nick's fist, mindlessly chasing his orgasm. Nick can't help himself; Louis is fucking gorgeous like this. He tightens his hand and fucks into Louis faster, rapid little jabs of his hips right over Louis' prostate. 

With a drawn-out groan Louis spurts over Nick's fist, hot and messy, and collapses down onto the bed, Nick on top of him.

Nick knows he should probably pull out. Louis' just come for the second time in an hour, he's got to be incredibly sensitive. But Nick's so close, it won't take much, and he's been waiting. He curls his hands around Louis' hips and lifts, hitching Louis back onto his cock.

Louis groans. "Fu-uck." He sounds almost drunk. His body's soft and pliant, letting Nick manhandle him into position but making no effort to help keep himself there.

"Yeah?" Nick tries an experimental thrust and Louis' whole body shivers. "Too much? Or can I?" He fucks in again, earns another shiver.

Louis turns his head to the side, just enough so Nick can hear him. "Yeah, fuck. Do it."

Nick props himself up on his left arm and wraps his right around Louis' torso, ignoring the mess of Louis' come, and goes for it. Fuck, it's even better like this, Louis just taking it, tight around Nick's cock but soft everywhere else, mouth hanging open and little noises escaping him every time Nick fucks in deep. By the time Nick's close, the sounds Louis is making have become almost pained, but far from pushing Nick away, he's started rocking his hips back into it, chasing it, like he likes it, like he might almost want to go again.

Just the thought of that, of Louis wanting this so much he's asking for more even though he's already come twice, tips Nick over the edge. He sinks his teeth into Louis' shoulder as he comes, pulsing into the condom. 

It takes him a minute to get his breath back, and then he pulls out slowly, not missing the wince that Louis tries to hide in the pillow. He can't resist running his free hand along the curve of Louis' arse one last time: fucking spectacular, especially with his hole pink and slick and puffy from taking Nick's cock. He dips a thumb in gently, testing, loving the easy give, but Louis makes a little protesting noise so Nick leaves him be, rolling off and onto his back. The condom he ties off and drops on the floor to deal with later.

The room smells like sweat and sex and come. It's an improvement.

"Whassatime?" Louis asks the mattress after a minute has passed. "Don't you need to leave?" He hasn't moved since Nick collapsed on top of him.

Oh, right, they've got a deadline. Nick had nearly forgotten. Also, he knows a hint when he hears one; cuddling's clearly not on Louis' agenda. He leans over the edge of the bed and digs his phone out of his trouser pocket. "Quarter past one. I'll ring for a taxi, shall I?" He fumbles for his contacts page to get the number, then frowns. "Er, what's the address of this charming hovel, again?"

The Louis lump extends an arm. "Give it here, you dick, I'll do it."

Nick passes his phone over and forces himself to get up, collect his clothes from the biohazard zone that is the floor, and find the toilet to clean up. Much as he never wants to move again, he probably wouldn't be allowed in a taxi in his current state, and he doesn't want to be here for the inevitable explosion if he's not gone by the time Louis' mate comes home.

There's no tissues in the toilet but there is a roll of loo paper, so Nick tears off a handful and wets it under the tap, then wipes himself off. He splashes some water on his face and gets his clothes on, then checks in the dirty mirror: good enough, and only a little bit like he's just spent an hour fucking an eighteen year old into the mattress. If he accidentally wakes his mum up when he gets home she'll be none the wiser.

When he gets back to the bedroom Louis is standing there holding Nick's phone. He's got his shirt and jeans back on, skinny ankles and bare feet looking oddly vulnerable as they poke out the bottom.

"Taxi'll be here in five," he says, handing over the phone.

"Ta." Nick pockets it and crouches to get his shoes on. He knows he shouldn't say anything, but can't help asking, "So, er. You alright?"

"Fine," Louis says, short.

Well, Nick should have known better than to expect a thank you. "Did you - get whatever it was you were looking for?"

"Yeah." Nick raises an eyebrow at him, prompting, and Louis rolls his eyes and says, "Fine, if you must know, turns out I like having a cock up my bum. You learn something new every day, and all that bullshit." 

He's clearly trying to sound casual but his jaw is clenched, a muscle in his cheek twitching. It might just be impatience for Nick to leave, but somehow Nick suspects Louis is more shaken up than he's letting on. This wasn't just Louis working out if he likes having things in his bum, this was Louis working out if he likes boys, and Nick remembers how he'd felt the day he'd realised that: like someone had pulled a blindfold off him and a rug out from under him, all at the same time.

Against his better judgement, Nick finds himself saying, "Listen, do you want me to leave you my number? In case you ever wanted to like, talk about anything?"

Louis shrugs, looking down and fiddling with the hem of his tee-shirt. "Nah, I can just text in when you're on the radio, can't I? You can start an advice segment: 'Dear Nick, I think I like being fucked in the arse by boys, what shall I do? Love, Louis from Doncaster.'"

Nick's heart sinks. "You know who I am?" he asks.

Louis snorts. "Of course. You do a national radio show, Grimshaw."

"Right, yeah." It's not that Nick's in the closet, exactly, but he's not completely out, either. "Er. You won't, like, out me to _The Sun_ for fifty quid, will you?"

Louis shrugs again. "I won't if you won't."

They watch each other silently for a moment, Louis still messing about with his tee-shirt. Then Nick's phone beeps with a message: his taxi is here.

"Right, well. I'm off, then." 

Nick looks at Louis, who says nothing. He's stopped fiddling with the shirt and is hugging his arms across his chest. He looks tiny. Nick really wishes Louis would put some bloody shoes on; his bare ankles are doing things to Nick's head, giving him unfamiliar urges to stay here and make sure Louis eats something, gets some sleep.

"Take care, alright?" Nick says, when Louis still hasn't said anything. That earns him a nod and a lift of the chin which Nick takes as a dismissal. "Alright. Bye."

He lets himself out of the house without looking back.

 

Nick finds himself thinking about Louis at odd moments over the next few months, wondering what he's up to, if he's been out again looking for more boys to fuck him, if he's okay. It's an unusual feeling for Nick, who's otherwise got the attention span of a gnat, not to be able to get Louis out of his head.

It's May before Nick notices there's a Louis T in his phone contacts that he certainly didn't put there himself. He puzzles over it for a couple of days before he works it out - Louis must have done it that night whilst booking the taxi, when Nick was in the toilet. Had he been expecting Nick to find it and ring him up? Surely not. They'd had a shag, Louis had had a sexuality crisis that he hadn't wanted to talk about, Nick had felt inexplicably fond of the snarky little shit, Louis had kicked him out. He’d made it quite clear at the time that he hadn’t wanted anything more to do with Nick. 

By October, Nick's almost forgotten about Louis Tomlinson - well, except for a few choice thoughts about his bum every now and again whilst wanking; it really had been spectacular. Then one Sunday evening he's sprawled out on the sofa next to Gills, playing Angry Birds on his phone and not really paying attention to whatever she's watching on the telly, when she elbows him.

“Check it out, Grim, this guy's exactly your type.”

He doesn't look up; Gillian's idea of 'his type' is usually way off. “Who is?”

“This kid on X-Factor. Though he's probably a bit young, even for you. But he's very cute.”

Nick hauls himself upright and squints at the TV. There's a group of boys bouncing around on the stage, singing and emoting very earnestly. Gill's right, they are cute, but Nick's offended: they look about twelve.

“Ooh, there, that one," Gillian says as the camera pans past a curly, dark-haired boy, and Nick's about to protest his lack of interest - though give him a few years and ask him again, the kid's got a very nice smile - when the words stick in his throat, because - fuck. That's _Louis_. That's Louis, singing, on the telly. 

It must be him, he's got those fucking red jeans on.

“Nick? Are you alright?” Gillian's looking at him, worried. God knows what his expression must've been like to have her concerned enough to stop teasing him. "You know I didn't mean anything by it, I know you wouldn't, really."

Except he _had_ , is the thing. Fuck. And judging by his visceral reaction to Louis just then - not just, _ooh, how fun, someone I've shagged is on the telly_ , but a wave of _thank fuck he's okay_ followed swiftly by _fuck he looks good_ \- he would, again. He wants to, again.

Fortunately the show's nearly over, and Nick excuses himself to his bedroom, spins Gillian a flimsy excuse about not feeling well. When the door’s safely shut behind him he pulls out his phone and scrolls rapidly through his contacts. He doesn't remember deleting any recently, surely he must still have Louis' number? 

He does.

It takes him ten minutes of typing and deleting in the text box before he finally settles on simply: _Nice jeans_. As soon it's sent he realises he didn't put his name and there's no guarantee that Louis will know who it's from, but he refuses to be that person who sends three texts without having got a single reply, so he leaves it. If Louis ignores him, it’s probably for the best.

He's lying in bed hours later when his phone goes off, and he gets honestly jittery like a thirteen year old with a crush when he sees it's a text from Louis: _Ta but I think we both know its whats inside them that counts._

Nick’s trying to come up with something witty to say when his phone beeps again: _btw thanks for not selling me out to the papers_

Nick chews on his bottom lip. _Didnt know there was anything to sell until I saw you on telly tonight,_ he sends, and, _also if youre on x-factor does that mean youre in london?_

_Only until we get kicked off. so until next weekend at least_

Nick knows he shouldn’t ask. He really shouldn’t. He does anyway: _Want to catch up?_

It takes ten minutes for Louis to reply, during which time Nick’s called himself an idiot about fifty times and keeps thumbing his phone on and off to check it’s still working. Then: _Can get away for a couple of hours on wednesday but would have to come to yours._

Wednesday. It won't be simple - he'll have to kick Henry and Gillian out of the flat or they'll never stop giving him shit for shagging an eighteen year old wannabe popstar - but. There's not even really a decision to be made.

He hits reply. _Wear the jeans._


End file.
